Page 61 of Total Obsession

The news wasn't letting up on Abelardo's arrest. They were milking the fact that they'd caught this guy for all it was worth. I was pretty sure Netflix was already in the works to create another Narco's-like series, just based on what they were going to learn from him when he spilled his guts.

Which he would.

I hadn't heard from Giovanni.

I had no idea what had happened to the daughter.

And Primo was very much still wanted by the authorities, which made operating any of the normal channels of operation that much more difficult for the Maldonados. Other families were starting to move in on the turf that they'd been forced to give up.

When the head of the family and then the son are both out of commission, it makes running the family business a bit more difficult. It was ultimately what Johnny wanted. He wanted his second son, Constantino, to step up and take over. Problem was, Tino hadn't made a move to do so.

No one had even heard from him recently.

The family's power was waning fast.

This was also why Beau's sudden request perplexed me. I'm suddenly receiving orders to off someone with less than 24 hours of planning time while the police are out looking for me?

It seemed like a trap, and I wasn't going to fall for it. I'd never quite gotten over Primo being up on that rooftop. I'd assumed that he was trying to take out Giovanni, but there was something nagging in the back of my mind that told me to be careful.

Primo and his father had never quite gotten along, and of course, the entire reason for me being there was to set Primo up. I wasn't sure how it would be possible for him to be tipped off to that plan, but if he were, I wouldn't even hold it against him if he were trying to take me out now.

I rubbed my temples as I tried to refocus. I hated when things got messy. I liked things clean. I liked when things went according to plan. This was the first time in decades that things felt so out of control.

"Everything okay?" Zoey's sweet voice asked me.

I looked up to see her rubbing a towel through her wet hair. She was wearing an oversized bathrobe and looking as comfortable and carefree as ever.

And why shouldn't she?

As far as she was concerned, she had a doting boyfriend, a blossoming television career, and was on holiday for the first time in months.

"Just a slight headache," I replied, standing up straight. "Nothing to worry about."

"When did you get like this?" she asked me.

"Like what?" I asked as we both made our way to the dinner table where I'd already laid out the food.

"Like you can't show how you really feel about something. Like you always have to act like nothing ever bothers you. Even with everything that happened in Miami, you barely act fazed by it."

The scene of me murdering my father flashed before my eyes, and I smiled at her. If she only understood what something like that did to a person, what I'd had to do to survive afterward, and all of the things that I'd done since then, then she might have understood just how silly her question actually was.

I took a bite of the cornish game hen that I'd ordered for dinner and gave her a curious look. "Maybe I've always been like this," I replied.

She shook her head and took a bite of her own dinner. I could see her features shift. She was enjoying it.

"No, that's not right," she said between bites. "I remember how you were before."

I immediately wanted to change subjects. Diving into my past--intoourpast--wasn't something I wanted to do. What I wanted to do was to show as much interest in Zoey as possible and give her next to nothing about myself. Doing it in a way that didn't have her suspecting that was my goal was the sign of a true professional.

"Is your family not sad that you won't be joining them for Thanksgiving?" I asked, changing the subject.

She winced slightly. "No, I don't think so," she replied.

I knew this was a sore subject for her. While I didn't have all of the details, I had certainly watched Zoey enough over the past several years to know that she did not speak with her parents any longer.

"Why not?" I asked her, feigning ignorance. "I thought you were always close with your parents. Things seemed happy at home."

"Things were," she said slowly. "Until they weren't." Her words were slow and measured. "A lot of things fell apart when you left, Axe," she said.

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